Chiaroscuro
by wolfraven80
Summary: Picking up the pieces in Seattle, Max and Chloe begin to realize that getting out alive is only step one. Max escaped the dark room and weathered the storm, but how do you outrun all the dark places inside of you?
1. One: Monochrome

**Chiaroscuro**

 **One: Monochrome**

 _Chiaroscuro – In photography, a striking contrast between light and dark used for effect._

Max loved taking photos of Chloe. It didn't matter what Chloe was doing–laughing, dancing, scowling, or flipping someone the bird–she was always larger than life in those photos, as if a two-dimensional image couldn't contain the force of her being.

So when Max spied Chloe that grey Seattle morning, sitting on the front steps of the Caulfield family home, a lit cigarette in hand, she knew she had to take the shot. Chloe never heard her until the telltale electric moan of the instant camera gave Max away.

Chloe raised her hands to shield her face. "Shit! Who told the paparazzi I was holed up here?"

Max laughed as she gave the photo a few shakes to help it develop. "Not the paparazzi, just you biggest fan." She sat down on the steps next to Chloe, close against her so she could feel the warmth seeping through her jeans where their legs touched. Once it would have been nothing; now it made her heart beat a little faster.

"Let me see that." Chloe took the photo and peered at it. Max glanced over but didn't let her eyes linger on it too long–just in case. "That's a keeper."

"You can hang onto it then."

Chloe stuffed it into her jacket and then knocked the ash from the tip of her cigarette into an ashtray at her feet. And then she said nothing for a long while. Staring ahead at the wet pavement of the small suburban street, Chloe seemed to be looking past the dreary scene to something far away. She must have gotten news from home.

It had been less than a week and Arcadia Bay was still under a state of emergency. The storm had taken out transmission towers, and the phone companies had had to erect temporary towers in order to restore cell service. Power was still a work in progress in many areas.

Chloe heaved a sigh, blowing out a puff of grey smoke. "I got another message from Mom. House is trashed. Her and step-dou–" She stopped herself, clenched her jaw for a moment, and then went on. "David. They're stuck camping out in a parking lot. And since the diner is in pieces Mom is out of a job. So we're basically homeless and on our way to a bright future of hobo-dom." She flicked the ash off the tip of her cigarette.

Max stared down at her sneakers. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Better homeless than dead."

"It' all my fault." Saying it out loud again made her chest ache, her eyes burn. The words popped into her head every time Arcadia Bay was mentioned on the news, every time it came up in conversation, every time her phone buzzed with a message asking if she was all right or letting her know that someone else was–or wasn't.

Chloe stubbed out her cigarette and then slung an arm around Max's shoulders, drawing her close. "It's _not_ your fault." Max squeezed her eyes shut and tried to push back the storm of memories, the huge dark funnel, the destruction, the bodies. "I don't know why this clusterfuck happened to us, but you're the reason I'm still here, Max. And you didn't give yourself superpowers so don't give me that emo shit."

And in spite of everything, that made her laugh. She gave her eyes a cursory swipe and looked up at Chloe. "I don't wear enough black to be emo." She could smell the damp leather of Chloe's jacket and the lingering scent of smoke that clung to her. It was oddly comforting.

"Have you heard anything from your friend Kate?"

Max nodded. "She's all right. The hospital didn't take too much damage–broken windows and that sort of thing. And they had to run on generators."

"Good. Glad she's okay."

But when Max glanced up at Chloe, she didn't look okay. "What is it?"

"I just... I just keep thinking about Rachel and..." Scowling at the empty street again, Chloe tugged at the beanie on her head, adjusting it for a few moments, trying to buy time.

A twinge of–something–made words come slowly to Max's lips. Even now it was hard to grasp who Rachel Amber had really been–friend, lover, victim. She had saved Chloe but she'd also been sneaking around with Frank. She'd been friends with everyone but also been lured in by Jefferson as his next subject and become Nathan's accidental victim. Trying to see the real Rachel through all of it was like trying to see an image through a kaleidoscope.

Finally, Max rested a hand on Chloe's knee and whispered her name.

Chloe squeezed her eyes shut. "I keep thinking that... as soon as the dust settles in the Bay the cops are gonna start working on their investigation and... They'll go all CSI on the junkyard. They'll dig her up and autopsy her–her body. She'll be goddam Exhibit A in the courtroom." Tears rolled down her cheeks and she grimaced and covered her eyes. "Fuck."

Max wrapped her arms around Chloe. It was all she could do.

When Chloe spoke again, it was in a sort of snarl. "And that fucker, Jefferson, is still alive."

Just the sound of his name was enough to make goose bumps prickle her skin, to make her gut churn, and her fists clench. "Of course he is," Max said, her voice like acid.

"I know, right? Good to know the county jail's so sturdy. Goddam monster tornado can't even level the place." Pressed close against her, Max could feel the tension rippling through Chloe's body. "If anyone deserved to die, it was him. After what he did to Rachel. And to you."

Max shuddered. She could still almost feel the duct tape on her wrists, feel the flash blinding her bleary eyes. "I used to idolize him. Ugh." Rereading the pages in her journal where she'd gushed about Jefferson now made her want to heave. "Everything he talked about in class... He was just playing games with us, laughing at us." She could still hear his lectures. _From light to shadow, from colour to chiaroscuro... What if Arbus chose to capture people at the height of their beauty or innocence?_ "All that bullshit about photographing innocence when really he was..." But whenever she tried to talk about it, she ran out of words. For all his eloquence, all his charm he was a monster, a common sicko, jonesing to take pictures of doped up girls and calling it art.

"Total bullshit. After all–" And here Chloe leaned in and spoke into Max's ear, "If anyone's going to mess with your innocence, it's hella gonna be me." And to make her point, Chloe nipped Max's ear.

Max yelped and, as Chloe grinned down at her, she could feel herself turning a brilliant shade of red.

"You're hella cute, hippie. Did you turn that colour when Warren was putting the moves on you?"

"No!" she protested. Warren had definitely not had this effect on her. Not even close. "Just you."

"I told him he didn't stand a chance."

It occurred to Max that Chloe was trying to distract her, but, as Chloe leaned in to kiss her, Max found she that didn't mind. No, she didn't mind at all.

#

The storm came without warning, darkening the skies of her dream.

At first it was only a black roiling cloud, a towering thunder-head spitting lightning. Max could see it from the bluff where she stood overlooking–no, not Arcadia Bay. Downtown Seattle, its colony of skyscrapers clustered behind the Space Needle like a faithful entourage.

The sky seemed to grow lower, the dark cloud oozing downward, an expanding stain reaching towards the ground. The air around it grew thicker. It began to churn and then to spin. She could feel the tug of it even from where she stood, like a giant, drawing in a deep breath. The vortex inhaled debris–SUVs, lamp posts, trees, hunks of mortar–swallowing them whole.

Max could only watch.

The funnel was as wide as the horizon, as tall as the Space Needle, and she watched it take the tower to pieces in an instant, devouring it and then sweeping over and past. The tall arch of the glass museum Max and her family had visited last year vanished into the storm. Columns of gold and orange glass flowers shattered into brilliant shards, filling the storm with flecks of colour against its blackness.

As it churned northward through downtown Seattle, towards the square roofline of the Key Arena, Max realized she was no longer alone. She stood watching the storm with Mark Jefferson.

"Oh, Max," he groaned. "This is amazing." He held the camera view finder up to his eye, pointed at the storm. The click of the shutter, the flash. "Keep it up, Max." A photograph tumbled from his camera as he kept clicking, and then another. "I knew you had a gift." The wind picked up the photos, making them swirl around her. They were all pictures of her.

When she looked again, the funnel was mountainous and the city below was gone. The glass flecks had multiplied, filling the black cloud with a hail of red as if the storm were bleeding.

"You broke the rule, Max." Jefferson continued to photograph the funnel even as the starkly shadowed pictures of her face fluttered all around her in the wind. "Always take the shot." He spun, his gaze furious. "Christ, Max! What is wrong with you? You fucked up everything." She couldn't move, couldn't speak. "There's only black and white. Experience and innocence. The present and the past. And if you try to mix them together you just fuck them up. Isn't that right, Max?"

Max jerked into wakefulness, her eyes springing open to the familiar contours of her old bedroom. Her limbs felt weak and heavy even as her heart was racing double time. And though she recognised the popcorn ceiling, and the shape of the bookcase to her left, the terror of the dream was still fresh, gripping her. If she stirred, she might be back there again, or in the dark room. She could get pulled back there again as she had so many times. She might–

"Max?" Chloe's voice was thick with sleep.

As had often happened this past week, they'd stayed up late into the night talking and hanging–or making–out, and, rather than creep across the hall to the guest room, Chloe had crawled into bed next to her.

"I'm fine," Max said, turning onto her side. "I just... had a bad dream."

"Go back to sleep."

 _I can't. I just can't._ The storm was waiting for her if she closed her eyes. And Jefferson.

She heard Chloe shifting under the blankets. She thought her friend had turned over and returned to dreamland. But then Chloe was pressed up against her, wrapping herself around Max's body, an arm around her waist, drawing her close. "Go black to sleep, Max," she said again.

It was a long while before Max did get back to sleep, but with the warmth of Chloe's skin against hers, and the steady rhythm of her breath like a lullaby in Max's ear, she didn't feel afraid anymore.


	2. Two: Black and White

**Two: Black and White**

When Max woke, grey light was streaming through a crack in the blinds. She blinked at it for a minute or so before finally sitting up. It was weird to be back in her room, especially this stripped-down version of it. Most of her stuff had gone with her to Blackwell. The bookcase in the corner had huge gaps in it. Except for a lamp, the desk in the corner was bare, though, a few months ago, it had been littered with camera equipment, extra film, photos, her laptop, and more charger cables than actual electronic devices in her possession.

Chloe must have gotten up earlier because she was nowhere in sight, nor was her jacket.

Stretching, Max got to her feet and padded to her bedroom window to see if it was drizzling or just grey. But when she opened the blinds and got the full view of her driveway, her stomach dropped. Chloe's truck was gone.

Max's heart began to pound. She tried to take a few deep breaths to calm herself down but suddenly all she could think about was Chloe alone in that truck. What if she got into an accident? Or if she got out of the truck and got hit crossing the street? Or if she went to the corner store to buy cigarettes just when the place was getting held up and she got shot?

Dropping down onto her bed, Max tried to focus on breathing, but the throng of fatal scenarios crowded around her, stealing the air. She couldn't even tell herself that she was being ridiculous; she had seen Chloe die too many times already. What if fate still had it out for Chloe? Max wasn't even sure if she could rewind anymore. What if she did and she called down another storm?

With shaking hands, Max reached for her phone and texted Chloe.

 _Where are you?_

She clutched the phone, waiting for the ping of a notification. A minute: nothing. Another, and still nothing. Max punched the call button and pressed the phone to her ear as it rang and rang. She bit down on her lip as the call went to voicemail. "Hey this is Chloe. Leave a message or fuck off. Your choice."

Max tried again. And then twice more before she heard the roar of the old pickup chugging into the driveway. _Oh thank Dog._

Chloe's eyes were glued to her phone when she sauntered in a minute later. "Was that you blowing up my phone, Max?"

"You didn't answer."

"Don't text and drive and all that shit." But when she looked up and saw Max, her expression changed. "What's wrong?"

Max looked down at her hands, balled into fists on her knees. "Nothing. It's stupid. I was just... freaking out is all."

"It's your lucky day, Maxaronie–I know just what you need." She tugged on Max's arm, pulling her up from the bed, and then proceeded to push her towards the hallway.

"I need a shower?" Max said, perplexed. "Wowser. Is this an intervention? Are you telling me I reek?"

"We've been here for days and you haven't given me the tour yet."

"Tour?" Standing there in front of the bathroom mirror, Max thought there wasn't much to give a tour of–it wasn't a big house. Chloe's reflection looked impish.

"Seattle, hippie. Your home turf. We're gonna go downtown, do the touristy thing, get some new threads–" She paused to tug at the conspicuously plain white T-shirt she wore, the result of a hasty trip to Wal-Mart to acquire some fresh socks, underwear, and shirts the day after they'd arrived. "And then we stay up late, blow shit up."

And finally Max smiled. "All right. Pirates for life."

Chloe stepped back out into the hall and started closing the door–only to poke her head back in. "Don't take too long or I'll have to come in after you." She winked and shut the door behind her.

Max spent the entirety of her shower wondering if Chloe had been serious.

#

"And here on your left, you can see Seattle's famous squash, right next to its world-renowned pumpkins."

Chloe oohed and ahhed and mimed snapping a commemorative photo of the gourds in question. "Best. Tour. Ever." The Pike Place Market was a Seattle must-see. The fruit stalls were full of local produce, and now, in October, many were overflowing pumpkins for jack-o'-lantern carving. When they'd been little, she and Chloe had competed to carve the scariest pumpkin. William had pretended to shriek with fright and tried to hide under the couch, before declaring it a tie.

Chloe's nose wrinkled as they neared the seafood stalls. "Smells fishy."

Max groaned. "Too obvious."

Max had been good to her word and played tour guide as they'd roamed downtown Seattle. After last night's dream, she'd felt a little uneasy as they walked through the gardens near the Space Needle, and the Chihuly Garden and Glass exhibit, both so magnificently demolished in her nightmare. But then Chloe had slung an arm around her shoulders and she'd been caught up in the novelty of being openly _with_ someone. And a girl no less. Wowser. When she occasionally caught one of the obvious-tourists (men in Hawaiian shirts with cameras around their necks and women in straw hats and sunglasses) looking their way, she was never quite sure if it was because of them being OMG gay or because of Chloe's blue hair and punk attire–or maybe both, since either one was probably enough to throw off visitors from Alabama to Arkansas.

And of course Mission Acquire Awesome Apparel had been an event unto itself. Max knew where the really good non-touristy shops were hiding, a little out of the way of the main drag. Chloe had been spectacularly efficient at plucking items off the racks for herself, but since she insisted Max still lacked a style of her own, she'd made her try basically everything that would fit. In one shop, she'd waited outside the tiny change room, and each time Max stepped out would give her appraisal.

"Hot!"

"Pass."

"Fuckin' awesome."

"1973 needs to stay dead."

"Get back in that change room–I'm gonna jump you right now." That one had left Max blushing again, which had amused Chloe to no end. "You're hella adorable."

Another shop had had only one change room so Chloe had squeezed in with her "to save time," she said. They'd seen each other in skivvies before so it shouldn't have been weird... except that Chloe was her girlfriend now so it was sort of different somehow and this had led to more abashment on Max's part and more amusement on Chloe's. At one point she'd been trying on a tank top with a crossed swords jolly roger–a must for any pirate–and when she'd tugged the shirt on, she'd looked up to see Chloe's reflection just staring at her. "Chloe?"

Chloe stepped closer and, standing behind her, rested her hands on Max's bare shoulders. Her touch was electric. "Look at us," she said, smiling at their reflection. "We're both finally here. Amazeballs."

Max couldn't speak. She was overwhelmed by how desperately glad she was to have Chloe here with her, all in one piece and safe, and, at the same time, by how disarmed she was by the warmth of Chloe's hands on her skin.

"All right, mush levels exceeded," Chloe announced. "Back to our regularly scheduled don't-give-a-fuckery. Oh and that shirt," she added, tilting her head to peer at the skull and crossbones, "totally makes me want to bone you."

Max spun and gave her a shove. "That was terrible. You're officially banished. Out!"

There had also been that awkward moment at the first store when they'd gone to pay for their new things and Max had pulled out her credit card and announced she'd be paying for both their items. Chloe had protested of course and Max had had to explain. "It's my mom," Max said sheepishly. "She gave me a slush fund for new clothes and told me to share it with you. You know since..."

"Since I'm homeless and broke."

"Chloe–"

"No, it's cool. Your folks have been really good about everything. Especially since I'm trying steal you away from them."

"You don't have to _steal_ me."

"It's more fun that way."

And now in the market, walking between the stalls, the air full of the scent of fruit and flowers–and fish–Max was unbearably grateful. She was walking hand in hand with her badass, amazing, gorgeous, best friend/girlfriend; they were passing food vendors and trying to decide what to eat; they had gone shopping for clothes–it was the first time in ages she'd felt so normal.

"Hold up," Chloe said, stopping at once of the vendors. "Those burritos are calling me. Want anything?"

Max thought for a moment. "Get me a kale quesadilla."

"That's a thing?"

"Yes, Chloe, it's a thing."

Chloe offered a mock salute. "Yes, sir, Captain Max."

While she had the chance, Max pulled out the camera she'd brought along and took a few shots. It had been a while since she'd used a digital camera and she'd had to rack her brain all day trying to remember where to adjust all of its many settings.

Chloe returned with a wrapped packet in each hand. "What's with the shiny new toy? I thought you were hardcore into analog."

"Oh. I..." Max glanced down at the point-and-click in her hands. "It's my dad's. I needed some practice with shutter speed and exposures so I asked if I could borrow his."

For a moment, Chloe looked like she was about to say something, but finally she just handed Max her quesadilla. They found a bench and sat down to eat and talk. They'd both made a point of turning off their phones at the start of the day. They were officially in radio silence mode. Today was just for them.

"There's one more place I want to stop at. I've got the address. Can you figure out how to get us there?"

"Sure but–"

Chloe gave her the address–just the address. When they arrived, Max realized why. They were standing in front of a recreational, and completely legal, weed shop. "Really, Chloe?"

"We're in Washington. It's totally legit."

Max crossed her arms and stared Chloe down. "If you're twenty-one."

"Or–" Chloe said, extracting a card from her wallet, "if you have i.d. that _says_ you're twenty-one."

"Where did you get that?"

"You really want to know, hippie?"

Resigned, Max sighed. "No one will believe I'm legal and I don't have fake creds. I'll just wait out here."

Chloe gave a cheeky little wave. "Be back soon. Ish."

Max decided to spend some quality time with the digital camera. When she'd been getting ready this morning, she'd reached for her camera and then thought better of it, opting instead to ask her dad if she could borrow his. With a digital she would be able to see her pictures on a screen; she wouldn't have to worry about whether staring into the photo would lead to her altering time and disrupting the fabric of reality.

They were close to the highway now, the Alaskan Way viaduct that had been the source of much city drama since long before she'd moved here. Just before she'd packed up her things for Blackwell, they'd begun drilling an underground tunnel to replace the original highway. The expected road closures and construction had been something she'd been happy to be leaving. Funny how different things were now compared to what she'd expected only a few months–hell even a few _weeks_ –ago.

Max crossed the street to stand at the edge of the underpass, peering down at the cars disappearing below. _Always take the shot_. She hated how she could still hear Jefferson's voice in her thoughts, how his words still resonated with her– until she remembered what a sick fuck he was.

Angling the camera and adjusting the zoom, Max took shot after shot of the oncoming cars below. But the angle wasn't quite right. She leaned against the railing, trying to frame the shot just right. She leaned and tilted and clicked. Not quite right. She leaned further.

Max started when she felt something latch onto her, catching her around the waist and pulling her back.

"I'm cool with you falling for me, but you're leaning the wrong way."

"Chloe! You startled me." She relaxed against her friend, surprise vanishing into the thrill of Chloe's arm around her hips, her body pressed close against Max's back.

"Sorry, Super Max. Guess you were in the zone."

"Something like that," Max said. She turned to face Chloe. "Did you have fun?"

"It was fucking amazing." She was practically glowing and for a moment Max wondered if she'd already sampled the products. "It was like a candy store. Except with bongs instead of candy dispensers. There was a chalk board with daily edible specials."

"Just don't let my parents catch you."

Arms crossed, Chloe peered at her skeptically. "So your parents are okay with your dating _me_ , but a joint is a problem?"

Max shrugged. "Drugs don't look good on an academic record. Anyway, are you ready to go?"

"Oh we're going all right, just not back to your parents'. We've still got shit to do."

#

Chloe filled up the junker's tank and then she drove and drove until they were out of the city and the land grew flat and they passed derelict barns and narrow roads with patched up asphalt and hella potholes. The sun was low in the sky when Chloe pulled over at the edge of a barren field and turned the nose of the truck east.

Max was about to ask why they were stopping but Chloe proceeded to get out of the truck, spread a couple of blankets across the junker's bed, and hop in. She banged on the side of the cab. "Come on, Maximus, best view in the house."

Clambering into the back of the truck made her feel less like Super Max and more like Kluzo-Max, but she finally hauled herself in. Chloe was already leaning back against the cab, hands crossed behind her head, her long legs stretched out in front of her. Max crawled in next to her, and, hugging her knees, took a minute to appreciate the view. Banks of clouds hovering on the horizon were set alight by the setting sun, a burst of orange and fuchsia, fading into blue-black embers at the far edges. She could have taken a picture, but she knew it would never turn out as beautifully as the real thing.

A crinkling sound, caught Max's attention and she turned to see Chloe rolling a joint with practised ease. When she was done, she offered it to Max. Max shook her head.

Chloe continued to hold it out. "Are you sure? It might take the edge off."

"No thanks. Really."

Chloe scowled. "I'm not the one waking up in a cold sweat every night."

"I'm fine. I am."

"In that case, these are all yours." And with that she tossed Max her keys and lit up. Clutching the keys, Max smiled down at the panda keychain, remembering that day at the Two Whales when she'd shown off her time-reversing skills. It was hard to believe the diner was gone, that they'd never have waffles and bacon there again.

Drawing in a deep breath of the scented smoke, Chloe gave Max an appraising look. "Unless these sweaty dreams of yours have been the good kind. Has Warren been keeping you company in dreamland?"

"No, he hasn't. Chloe, you're not... _jealous_ of Warren, are you?"

She blew out a cloud of smoke. "No fucking way." And then, turning to grin at Max, "I mean what's he got that I don't? Besides a–"

Max slapped a hand over Chloe's mouth. "We are not talking about that."

With a shrug, Chloe pulled away. "What? I was going to say a 4.0 GPA."

She gave her an incredulous look. "Yes, Chloe. I believe you."

"And a wicked black eye." She took another puff and let it out slowly. And then, quite casually, "Oh, and a dick."

Max could feel her face flushing even as she laughed.

"I told you," Chloe said, looking out into the sunset, "boys are way fucking gross. But you could call him up and take it for a test drive if you want to be sure."

She gave Chloe a playful shove. "Shut up."

"Make me."

And that was all the invitation Max needed.

Chloe's lips were warm. The skin on the back of her neck, where Max rested her hand to draw her closer was warm too. All of her was. She seemed always to radiate heat, as if she had a flickering fire just below the surface of her skin.

A grunt and Chloe pulled back sharply, rubbing her chest. "Damn, Max. Is that a camera in your pocket or are you just hella glad to see me?"

"Oh!" Max looked down only to realize that her father's camera was still slung around her neck. "Sorry," she said sheepishly. "I got a little distracted." She pulled the strap over her head, but before she could put the camera away, Chloe reached out for it.

"Come on, miss artiste, let me take a look at your day's work." For a second Max hesitated but when Chloe stubbed out her joint, Max knew she was serious. Pulling her knees up and setting the camera on them, Chloe turned on the camera and flipped it into view mode.

Cars on the overpass. Mostly blurry. Mostly framed awkwardly. All in black and white.

Chloe flipped through these and then paused as she reached a photo from the market. A stand bursting with monochrome pumpkins, one of them tottering on the edge, looking ready to roll off. "Why all the black and white?"

"Practice," Max said. A twinge of guilt made her shift uneasily. "Monochrome photographs put the focus more on shape and image instead of colour. And they're more interpretive because the lack of colour makes the photo abstract, not just a one to one copy of reality."

"Nerd alert."

Chloe flipped back further. And there she was at the burrito stand, waiting in line, her blue hair now a deep grey, her arms crossed as she scowled at the man ahead of her. "I see you got my best angle." She kept going.

Monochrome Chloe in front of a store mirror, inspecting a new shirt, its fabric a stark black stain in the centre of the shot. Chloe outside a store, loaded with white paper shopping bags. Chloe fiddling with the stiff lock on the driver's side of the junker, her mouth open as she cussed out the old truck. Chloe, sauntering through the park, her boots darker than the deep grey grass.

Glancing in Max's direction, Chloe raised her eyebrows. "Did you take pics of anything besides me today? And not a single selfie? What have you done with the real Max Caulfield?"

The dark blue of the sky was spreading, dimming the fiery hues that lingered on the horizon. The last time she'd watched a sunset with Chloe had been in that alternate reality, with Chloe riding along in her motorized wheelchair. Max glanced at her best friend, her beautiful, fierce Chloe, whole and alive. She took a deep breath, and told her the truth.

"When I took selfies it was like..." Max twisted her hands together as if she could wring the words she needed from them like water from a damp cloth. "I think I was trying to prove to myself I was real."

Chloe reached out and poked her in the ribs. "You feel pretty real to me."

" _Chloe_." Max scooted away; she'd always been ticklish along her sides, as Chloe well knew. She sighed then and shook her head. "I wasn't anyone at Blackwell. I was just there, hovering at the edges. I needed those photos to prove I was really there, not just a..." She shrugged. "A ghost or something."

"So now you're taking pics of me instead?"

"I guess I just want to be sure you're not a ghost either." Max covered her face with her hands, squeezing her eyes shut. So many bad memories. "God, Chloe, I've seen you die _so_ many times."

Chloe moved nearer, and, wrapping her arms around Max, pulled her close. "I'm not a ghost."

No, she must not be, because ghosts didn't smell of pot and deodorant and soap. Max buried her face in Chloe's neck and drew in deep breaths of her until, beneath everything else, she could catch the faint scent of Chloe's skin.

Chloe's hand brushed across her cheek, pushing back Max's hair. When Max glanced up, the intensity of Chloe's gaze made her feel like she was the most important thing in all the world. "I'm real," Chloe said, and then she pressed her lips to Max's until Max was convinced it was true.


	3. Three: Shades of Grey

**Three: Shades of Grey**

Max was sitting at her dad's computer, reviewing the photos she'd taken yesterday with Chloe, when her phone rang. Dread surged through her veins, and her gut clenched. Chloe was in the kitchen, rummaging for lunch-worthy items, so it wasn't her. Nor was it the ringtone she'd set for her parents' numbers.

Arcadia Bay was calling her.

Before it could go to voicemail, Max gathered her courage and reached for the phone. Warren's number! She picked up and pressed the phone to her ear. "Hello? Warren?"

"Hey there, Max." He sounded tired, his voice a bit hoarse, but it was so good to hear it anyway.

"Warren, how are you? Are you out of the hospital?"

"Yeah, I'm at my folks' place. It's okay aside from the garage."

"The garage?"

"Yeah it's kind of smashed. I'll send you pics." Max cringed. "I've got an awesome cast, though, and the broken ribs aren't too bad. As long as I don't laugh. So no jokes."

"Deal." Warren chuckled and then groaned. "I didn't even say anything!"

"I know. But you sounded so serious. It's cool though. Brooke and Alyssa already signed my cast."

"I'm glad they're both okay."

"Me too. That was fucking unreal. Did you see it, Max?"

She'd had front row seats. "I saw everything," Max whispered. She'd seen more than Warren could ever know, more than anyone could. Except for Chloe.

"I've been reading up and tornadoes and this thing just... It goes against everything known to meteorology. It formed over the ocean with no lead-up and it moved slowly–for a funnel. Normally they tear through areas at upwards of sixty miles an hour and the monster ones can be more than a mile across–even two! This thing took its time, which is why the shore got hit so hard. But it's also why a lot of people further in were able to get out of the way."

Max felt a bit queasy."You're saying it was an unnatural disaster?"

"Exactly!"

 _Super powers, super side effects._

"Sorry for the geek rant. Anyway, you're up in Seattle now, right?"

"Yeah. Chloe and I are crashing at my parents'. Her house got hit." Also, she wasn't about to let Chloe out of her sight. They were sticking together from now on, come hell or high water or fucking time-tornadoes.

"You know, you could've told me you date girls. I wouldn't have made a big deal out of it."

"I–uh–was still figuring it out."

"Oh. Awkward pause. Sorry."

 _This is going to take some getting used to._ At least her parents were cool with it–thank Dog, because if they hadn't been... Max wasn't sure _what_ they would have done. Run away she supposed. The idea had its attractions even now.

"It's okay," Max said. "Everything's been so crazy the past couple of weeks. It's hard to believe it's all real."

"Yeah. I heard they found a couple more people when they were sifting through the debris. There was one of the Bigfoots. Zachary Riggins."

Max couldn't breathe. She could hardly keep her hold on the phone. She'd barely known Zachary–she didn't even like him, but when she thought that he was dead because of her... because she wouldn't let Chloe die... Because her stupid fucking time-altering abilities also came with the small print: Use of the above powers may alter the fabric of reality and unleash death and destruction on nearby areas. Use at own risk.

 _I won't trade you._ She had meant it. She still couldn't imagine going through with it. What sort of person could let someone they loved die if there was a chance they could save them? How could she have ever looked Joyce in the eye after that? And without Chloe she would be alone; no one would understand what she and Chloe had gone through. They would think she'd lost her fucking mind.

But still... knowing that her decision has cost Zachary his life...

"Max? You okay?" Warren's voice sounded like it came from another world–a world where people's decisions didn't cause natural disasters and kill random bystanders.

"I guess."

"You can sign my cast when you come back to Arcadia Bay. Chloe too, okay?"

When you come back to Arcadia Bay.

"It might be a while," she said. It might be never.

#

In her dream, Arcadia Bay was whole. She stood outside the Two Whales Diner as it had once been, its blue and yellow neon sign like a beacon against the sky's ominous grey. She raised her camera and took a photo of it, and the wind picked up. She turned and snapped a shot of the semi across the street, and it began to rain. She took another of the coast, just visible from where she stood, and a spinning vortex materialized over the ocean.

"Good, Max. Take the shot." It was Mark Jefferson's voice. She knew he was there even without turning to look. He was hovering behind her as she took photo after photo. With each picture the spinning funnel of air grew larger and darker and closer. But she couldn't stop taking photos. _Click, whirr. Click, whirr._ They tumbled out of the camera and piled at her feet.

The funnel spun closer, drawing into it the fishing boats and the docks, swallowing them whole. The roofs of the tiny shops were lifted into the air. The siding and then the walls came next. _Click, whirr._ The storm grew bigger. She captured it all.

"Brilliant, Max!" Jefferson announced, his voice filled with ecstatic awe. "The ultimate threshold. Purity disintegrating into corruption."

Cars and trucks were devoured by the storm and then so, too, was the gas station across from her. A fireball erupted from the gasoline lines and was swallowed by the storm. She followed its progress with her view finder, never looking directly at it, but only through the lens. _Click, whirr._

The storm was a hungry beast. It passed her by and reached for the diner. It tore off the Two Whales sign and then spit it out again onto the pavement. _Click, whirr._

It devoured the town, and Max captured every moment.

And then it was quiet again. She lowered her camera. Mark Jefferson stood next to her, looking pleased and proud. "I think this session was a career high for you."

Max couldn't speak. She could only stand in the ruins of Arcadia Bay and look. At the demolished buildings. At the smashed vehicles. At the bodies.

Jefferson nodded knowingly. "The world is what an artist makes it."

When she looked down, she was surrounded by the photos she'd taken. They were all photos of Chloe.

#

Max's eye sprang open. For several minutes she lay in the dark without moving. She was alone in her room. She and Chloe had been watching a movie in the family room that night. Chloe had dozed off on the couch and Max hadn't wanted to wake her. She'd probably woken later and slunk into the guest room rather than waking Max. _I wish she had woken me. She could've saved me from that sick_ sick _dream._

Going back to sleep was unthinkable. So was staying in bed. Instead, she rose and got dressed. She needed to move, to do something–anything. So she put on her hoodie and headed out. She couldn't get proper night shots without a tripod and long exposures, but she brought the camera anyway.

Her neighbourhood in Seattle was suburban, full of trees and smallish houses. Streetlights pooled on the sidewalk. The streets were still and empty. Max stuffed her hands into her pockets and began to walk.

She walked around her block until she grew bold–or maybe just bored–and then she began to walk the nearby streets, places she'd roamed all through her teen years. She paused once to try to get a picture of a soda can under a streetlight. She had to fiddle with the camera for a long time, adjusting the flash intensity and the aperture and the shutter speed, and she had to make several attempts before she got the manual focus just right and managed anything that could be considered a remotely successful shot. She lost track of time and of place, but she took the shot.

And then she went on walking.

That stupid fucking dream. "The world is what an artist makes it." Jefferson really had said that to her in the dark room, not just in her dreams. Always lecturing, even then. The world. What did he know about making the world? She'd changed the landscape, called down the elements. Her pictures had become gateways to a literal disaster.

It wasn't until the sky was sliding from black to velvety purple that Max finally headed back and snuck into her home and slid under her blankets. She hadn't seen a single soul the whole time.


	4. Four: Greyscale

**Four: Greyscale**

Max was in the kitchen, finishing off a bowl of cereal and her second cup of coffee when her mom cornered her. Her father was out and Chloe was still in bed, so there was no one to rescue Max when her mom announced that she wanted to "have a talk".

Deer in the headlights.

Max reminded herself to swallow her mouthful of cereal even as she mentally listed the number of things her mom might want to talk about:

1) Enrolling in a school so she could graduate on time.

2) Applying to colleges–dependant on item 1).

3) How long were they supposed to give her unemployed dropout girlfriend free room and board?

4) Girlfriend. Gay. Coming out and all that jazz.

5) Safe sex. ( _Please, Dog, no_.)

6) The possibility that Max was the cause of the terrible disaster that had decimated Arcadia Bay.

The moment her mom sat down at the table, she began with, "Max, your father and I are worried about you." That was not a good tone. No, this wasn't a good start at all.

"I'm fine, Mom." She even managed a smile.

Her mom did not looked convinced. "You've been... well you haven't been yourself. You've been withdrawn and you look really down, sweetie."

"Mom–"

"Let me finish," her mom cut it. "I can't pretend to know what you went through or what you saw when the tornado hit. And if you don't want to talk to us about it, we understand. But it might help to talk to someone. We can send you to someone who knows about traumatic events, who can help you."

For a moment Max stared at her mother, jaw agape. "You want to ship me off to a shrink?"

Her mother smiled. "You're eighteen, Max. We can't make you anything you don't want to. But it's an option. It might help."

Max laughed. "I don't think so." She could see it now... _Yes, Doctor, the thing that upsets me the most is the fact that I had to choose between killing my best friend or letting my home town get smashed by a monster storm from hell. It wasn't really covered in my Life Skills class, so I've had some trouble adjusting to the responsibility._ It was basically a one-way ticket to a padded room. But hey, free Jell-o and pills every night–bonus!

"It's an option," her mother repeated.

"I have Chloe to talk to. She was there. She gets it."

Her mother looked a little sad. She interlaced her fingers on the table and stared down at them. "I wish you'd told me you were seeing someone. I know you're almost all grown up, but I'm still your mother and I want you to feel you can tell me things."

Taking a sip of her coffee to buy time, Max tried to straighten out her thoughts. It was so hard to explain things without talking about her rewind powers and everything those powers had brought about that mad week–which included her relationship with Chloe. "It's not like that, Mom. We only just started dating." If dating was even the right word. Their trip to Seattle the day before yesterday was the only thing remotely date-like they'd done. Investigating the secret lair of a psychopath and watching their hometown being destroyed didn't really count. "Everything just happened at once–Chloe, Kate, Mark Jefferson, the storm..."

"Chloe seems... different than when we left Arcadia Bay."

Different. The way that word rolled off her mother's tongue, rife with parental disapproval, made her temper flare instantly. "She went through a lot after William died," Max said, her tone steely. Her mom couldn't know how hard she'd had to fight to keep Chloe with her. No one knew, except Chloe.

"I'm sure that wasn't easy for her. It's just that... Well... We want you to get into a good college, Max, and..."

"So basically, you're worried that because I'm dating Chloe I'm going to drop out of school, get a bunch of tattoos, and start smoking and drinking?"

Her mom laughed. "Something like that, yes."

She and her mom both turned at the clunk of boots on the stairs. A moment later, Chloe, dark circles under her eyes and slouching, stomped into the kitchen. She halted when she saw them both at the kitchen table where they were definitely not eating. "Sorry, did I interrupt family time? I was looking for coffee. Hella need caffeine this morning."

"Go ahead, it's still fresh," Max's mom said as she rose.

Chloe gratefully poured herself a steaming cup and took a sip. And cursed a moment later as she burned her tongue.

"I'll see you girls later," said Max's mom before she left. The moment she was out of the room Max groaned and let her forehead thump down onto the table.

"What's up, Maximus?" Chloe pulled out a chair and slid into it, stretching her legs out under the table.

"My mom wants to send me to a shrink."

"Free prescription drugs. Score!"

Max shot Chloe a withering look. "Yes and then when I tell them about the rewind power they put me on anti-psychotic drugs and give me one of those nice white jackets with the wraparound arms."

"Maybe leave that part out."

As Chloe sipped at her coffee, Max gave her a once-over. Not only did she look tired, but her hair was dishevelled and her clothes were rumpled. And there was something not right about her shirt. She looked the way Max felt.

Chloe set down the mug. "How about another road trip? Head down the coast. We could splish splash in the ocean. You'd get the chance to see me in swimwear again."

Max's lips twitched. "Tempting."

"Seriously, we head south, you can get some photos–and some sun. You look like shit, Max."

"Thanks, beauty queen. You know your shirt's on inside out?"

Chloe glanced down at what she was wearing. "Shitballs."

While Chloe left to change, Max found herself returning to the text Warren had sent her yesterday with the promised photo of his family's garage. The house did indeed appear to have suffered only minor damage, requiring only the replacement of some shingles and siding. There was, however, what appeared to be a telephone pole protruding from the centre of the garage roof, like a giant spear haft.

Chloe reappeared, shirt on outside-out this time, and looked over her shoulder at the phone screen. "That could've been hella worse."

Max nodded and put away her phone. "Chloe," she began slowly, glancing up at her, "have you... seen any pictures from home?"

The bleak looked that flashed over her friend's features was enough of an answer. Chloe reclaimed her coffee and leaned back against the kitchen counter, cupping the mug in both hands. "Joyce sent a few over the other day. When she and step-dou–David–when she and _David_ went to find the house."

"Find it?" Max echoed, her stomach dropping.

"The whole block was levelled. No landmarks."

Biting her lip, Max kept herself silent. She wanted to say how sorry she was, but that would only annoy Chloe, she was sure. 'None of that emo shit', she'd said, right? "Can I see them?" Chloe hesitated. "It can't be worse than what I've seen in the news, can it?"

Chloe's shoulders slumped. "No, it's just more of the same." She took another gulp of coffee and then, setting down the mug, she reached for her phone. She flicked through to the gallery and handed the phone to Max. "Here."

Max found herself staring at a picture that looked like it had come out of the junkyard. A jumble of splintered wood and battered, unrecognisable objects. Something that might have been a hot water tank lay in the centre of the heap. There was a large blue object on one side of the photo. Max zoomed in and squinted at it for a minute. A dresser. The blue dresser that had lived in the corner of Chloe's room. "Shit." It came out in a whisper.

And then Chloe's arms were wrapped around her shoulders as she leaned down to hug Max from behind, her cheek against Max's. "Better the house than me, right?" And then, barely more than a breath in Max's ear, "Thank you, Max."

#

That night, when Max announced she was turning in, Chloe joined her, curling herself around her as if she knew Max needed someone to help guard against the nightmares. Max found that she and sleep had parted ways, so for a long time, she lay in the dark and enjoyed the comfortable novelty of being wrapped up in Chloe. They had had so many sleepovers as children and it had been nothing at all to be near each other, but now it was strangely thrilling to have her close, to feel the soft curves of her body, to let their limbs tangle together.

When Chloe did finally shift in her sleep to turn over onto her back, Max shifted over too to look at her, just a silhouette in the dark. Her beautiful, ferocious Chloe all brashness and balls when she stepped outside each day. But asleep she was just a girl.

Eventually Max's eyelids grew heavy with sleep, but each time she drifted into a doze, some image would snap her awake–the storm, Jefferson with a syringe in hand, Chloe's body hitting the bathroom floor, hitting the ground in the junkyard, Rachel Amber's dug up corpse–always something.

Finally, Max gave up and slipped out of bed as she had the night before. It was drizzling so, before heading out, she pulled on an old jacket, one she'd left behind when she'd gone to Blackwell. Her dad's camera came with her too, though she kept it in its protective case.

The rain clouds held in the glow from the porch lights and the streetlights, like a huge domed lampshade, and the puddles glistened and rippled underfoot. Max noted all these things, imagining the shot in her mind, even if she couldn't capture it on film.

The light made her bold and she walked a straight path through her neighbourhood and continued until she reached the commercial district next to it. She walked by the closed storefronts for bakeries and diners, fast food places, and the gas station that was open 24/7. Max toyed with the idea of stopping there for coffee, but she was hoping to tire herself out, not wake herself up, so she kept going. Now and then she would notice someone walking ahead, and cross the street. Mostly, though, she was alone.

She tried to keep her mind on the quality of the nighttime light, on shutter speeds and exposures. But her thoughts kept getting away from her.

If someone had told her in August that she was going to return to Arcadia Bay and fall in love with Chloe Price, she would've thought they were stoned. Of course, she would have thought the same thing if they'd told her she would suddenly acquire the ability to reverse time and alter the fabric of reality. And both had happened. Max wondered, though... if she had never had powers, if she had never left Arcadia Bay in the first place, would she and Chloe still have fallen for each other? Or would she just have been the mousey best friend, the third wheel while Chloe was crushing on Rachel Amber?

Chloe and Rachel...

She could hear Jefferson's sardonic tones even now. 'They're fucking together in heaven right now. Is that what you want to hear?' His voice was so clear in her mind, his words like syringes.

It was so fucked up to be jealous of a dead girl. But she was–at least if Max was honest with herself, which was somehow easier in the drizzly nighttime streets. The mellow streetlight laid bare her secrets in a way the steely grey daylight never could.

Before the sky could lighten too much, Max turned back so she could sneak back in before anyone noticed her absence. Dawn brought her a few hours' sleep, but she was too tired to do much of anything all day and she mostly made a point of avoiding her mom who wanted to ship her to the loony bin.

The next night was the same. And the next. But when it wasn't raining she was able to experiment with the camera settings until she was able to capture enough light without too much blur even in the absence of a tripod.

In the quest for less blur, Max squatted in front of some chained up patio furniture on the sidewalk, her camera set on the metal table as she angled the lens to capture the glow of the fluorescent sign across the street. She adjusted, tried again, until the image on the screen was clear, the neon sign of the seedy bar across the street, captured in black and white.

Drained of its gaudy brilliance, the sign resolved into the outlines of a bottle, now emptied. _The transformation between the old Max and the new Max._ As always, Jefferson's voice was her companion.

"Hey there. Nice night."

Max started, hands gripping the camera convulsively. She hadn't heard him approach. He looked a bit older than her and was dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket. A goatee hid his chin, and his lip looked like it was trying to sprout a moustache but lacked conviction. Shaggy brown locks fell into his eyes and he pushed them back and offered a smile that showed off nicotine-stained teeth. All in all, he reminded her of Frank Bowers.

"Yeah," she mumbled. Max returned the camera to its case, letting her eyes dart around, taking stock of her situation. The bar had left its sign on, but closing time had been about twenty minutes ago and the final patrons had already stumbled out the door. There was no one else on the sidewalk aside from Frank Jr. About two blocks from here, Max knew there was an all-night diner, one of those places that served breakfast all day long. If she could get there, she would be safe.

Slinging the camera case around her neck, Max set off in that direction. Frank Jr. fell into step with her. Max forced herself to take deep breaths and keep her steps long and even.

"You like to take photos?" Frank Jr. said, his arm brushing up against Max's elbow. She flinched and walked a bit faster.

"Yeah," she mumbled. "Photography student."

"Oh cool. Cool. I've been known to take a pretty mean selfie. Lemme show you." He stepped into her path and reached into his pocket for his phone.

Max's heart was already pounding, but it very nearly leaped into her throat as the clatter of quick footfalls echoed through the empty streets, drawing closer. Before she could even look, someone was there beside her. "Is this guy bothering you?"

"Chloe?" Max was every bit as shocked to see her there as she had been that day in the Blackwell parking lot when she'd faced off with Nathan Prescott.

Chloe slung an arm around Max's shoulders while she kept her other hand buried in her jacket. Frank Jr. looked like he was about to reach into his pocket again, but Chloe made a show of drawing her hand out of her jacket just enough so that he could see she was gripping the butt of a pistol. Chloe glowered at him. "I think you should get your punk ass out of here."

He held up his hands, palms out. "Chill! I don't want trouble. I was just trying to get her number."

"She doesn't want to give you her number."

"Okay, okay. That's cool." Frank Jr. licked his lips. "Do _you_ want my number?"

Chloe snorted, reflexively drawing Max closer. "Dude, do we look like we want your number?"

"But I could just–y'know–watch? Maybe?"

" _Chloe_ ," Max hissed as she felt her friend's body tense.

"Get. The fuck. Out."

"Shit, shit! I'm going! I'm going!" And Frank Jr. scurried off into the night.

Max sagged with relief, which lasted all of three and a half seconds before she turned her attention fully to Chloe. "Why do still have that gun?"

Chloe shrugged with utter nonchalance. "It was in the truck."

Max groaned. That stupid gun had been nothing but trouble in Arcadia Bay. "What are you doing here?"

"I followed you. Do you mind if we talk about it somewhere a little less sketch?"

#

Sitting in a booth by the window, inhaling the scents of grease and coffee, Max found herself feeling heartsick for the Two Whales. But the all-night diner was definitely safer than staying out on the street, and there was something novel about scarfing down pancakes and bacon at three a.m. Her rumbling stomach reminded her that she'd been walking for hours and hadn't eaten in ages, so she waited until she'd had several mouthfuls of late-night breakfast before talking. "You followed me tonight."

"I followed you every night," Chloe said around a mouthful of homefries.

"What?"

"And then I had to beat you back in so that I wouldn't get locked out. Serious Seattle ninja shit." Max stared. "The other night–what was it, Friday?–I heard the front door shut." Chloe gripped her fork like it was a weapon. "I freaked. I've never gotten dressed so fast in my life."

That would explain the inside-out shirt, she thought, recalling the sight of a very rumpled Chloe a few mornings ago. "I couldn't sleep," Max said finally.

"And instead of sitting around watching Youtube videos of cats you just decided to wander around in the middle of the night."

Eyes on her plate, Max swirled a piece of pancake in a pool of syrup. "It wasn't a big deal."

"Jesus, Max, you were so spaced out you didn't even notice that creeper tonight."

Palms pressing against the cool surface of the table, Max stared into her plate, as if she could read bits of pancake the way some people read tea leaves. Neither signs or portents appeared, which was just as well as Max had had enough of ominous visions. If life could just be normal again... But how could it now? After everything... Every _one_. Zachary Riggins and others. The homes people had lost, the financial ruin, the anguish, the loss that she'd inflicted on Arcadia Bay... _The old Max and the new Max._

Max started as Chloe leaned across the table to grip her hands. "Dude, seriously, you're fucking scaring me." Chloe's blue eyes bored into her with a kind of desperation that made Max's heart ache.

"Chloe... I'm sorry. I–" But the words wouldn't come. Jefferson, the storm–they were a part of her now and she didn't know how to explain that, to say how she couldn't sleep with these new bedfellows.

"Let's get out of here. We can go back, crash for a few hours, and then take off. Wherever you want to go, whatever you want to do."

She was going to say she was too tired, too worn out to do anything except maybe, _hopefully_ sleep a little when they got home, but then an idea came to her, something she hadn't thought about in a long time. Glancing up at Chloe, a tiny smile made its way onto her face. "There is one place..."


	5. Five: Polychrome

**Five: Polychrome**

Rain pounded the junker's windshield the whole way and only tapered off when they were crossing over to Harbor Island, Seattle's industrial sector. Using her phone to get directions, Max called them out to Chloe, and, with only a couple of wrong turns, they found their way through the mess of overpasses and train tracks to a lot where they could ditch the trunk and head out on foot.

"Come on, Super Max," Chloe said as her boots hit the gravel. "Time for some ninja action."

But Max was already pulling out her camera. "Just give me a minute." On one side a chainlink fence cordoned off a sprawling lot filled with shipping bins, cranes, forklifts, and other machinery Max couldn't even name. On the other, a half dozen rows of train tracks. A long line of boxcars, some scribbled with graffiti tags, and coal-black tankers idled on the tracks. Max snapped several shots while Chloe leaned against the truck, arms crossed, and watched her. Of course, she also couldn't resist spinning around and getting a shot of Chloe too.

The downpour had done them a favour because there were no guards around the fence as they approached their goal, a collection of monstrous silos taller than the overpass. They walked right in.

The silos rose on either side, as if she and Chloe were standing at the bottom of a massive canyon. Chloe craned her neck to peer up at them. "You know, when you said you wanted to go see an abandoned flour mill, the picture in my head was hella less cool."

Max smiled. The Fisher Flour Mill had a reputation in Seattle. The building dated back to the early nineteen hundreds, but had been abandoned for about a decade now. "Some of the kids at school used to come here. I've seen pics. There should be a way in up here somewhere."

The doors were all sealed shut, but the windows not so much. They found one on the ground level and, with a boost from Chloe, Max hauled herself through the window and into the abandoned building, followed, a moment later by Chloe herself.

Grey light, pouring in from the rows of window behind them, provided faint illumination in the cavernous room. It was like a giant parking lot, filled with concrete support columns. Along the sides were what Max thought might have been rusted conveyer belts. Every wall and every pillar was covered with bright splashes of graffiti.

For a full minute, Chloe stared around the room, mouth agape. When she turned to look at Max again, she had a mad grin plastered all over her face. "Amazeballs. This place was practically in your backyard and you never visited?"

Max shrugged. "I was still a kid when we moved to Seattle."

"Okay fine, but you totally should have come before starting at Blackwell."

"I didn't want to go by myself and my friends wouldn't come to a place like this."

Chloe put an arm around Max's shoulders. "That's because you had the wrong kind of friends."

"And you're the right kind?" Max said, quirking an eyebrow.

"I'm the best kind," she whispered, her lips brushing against Max's ear. And then, with a wicked grin, she released Max and sauntered down the wide aisles between the concrete pillars. For a few minutes afterwards, it was rather hard for Max to focus on taking pictures.

#

They wandered in and out of rooms filled with rusting machinery, over and under steel beams, pipes, and gears the size of coffee tables. Chloe peered at pressure gauges and, when they passed a panel with a large red button, stopped to press it, pouting when nothing happened. Everywhere, the walls were bright with graffiti. Max photographed everything, but especially Chloe, desperate to capture the wonder on her friend's features as they explored.

"This is epic," Chloe announced as she let a hand trail along the huge blocky letters of one of the tags, a violent mix of orange, purple, blue, and black. "I cannot fucking believe that you never came here."

Max lowered her camera to smile at Chloe. "It wouldn't have been the same without you." Nothing would be the same without Chloe, her wild, fearsome Chloe.

 _I had enough of those faux-punk sluts in my Seattle days._

Even here, she couldn't get away from Jefferson's acid words. He would never know the conversations they had had, never hear the words that haunted her dreams and her waking hours, but they were corroded into her memory forever.

Max raised her camera and took the shot.

Eventually, they found a stairwell and headed up into the main building, which rose higher even than the silos. Chloe grimaced as she reached for the railing. "Hope you've got your tetanus shot, Maxaroni."

"Standard issue for every modern pirate."

On another floor, there were rows of rusted machines–turbines of some sort–attached to rods and gears. Max couldn't fathom what function they'd once served even as she knelt to get a good angle on them. "It's eerie, isn't it? Like some sort of abandoned robot factory."

Over in the corner, Chloe was busy pushing every button and pulling every level on a derelict console. "Totally _Blade Runner_."

Max's breath caught as she remembered the last time she'd watched that movie. With Chloe–the other Chloe–in her hospital bed. She rose and wandered into the next room, with its high ceiling and mess of toppled-over equipment. Scanning the area for her next shot, a ladder in the back corner caught Max's attention. She looked up and saw a raised platform overhead.

Immediately, her mind's eye was setting up the shot, imagining the angle from above. _Always take the shot._ She made her way towards the ladder.

The rungs were solid when she tested them, so she settled her camera comfortably around her neck and began to pull herself up, hand over hand. At the top of the ladder, she reached the platform, a metal grille, thick with rust, and a rickety waist-high hand rail. The platform let out an ear-shattering creak as she stepped out onto it, and Max held her breath. When nothing catastrophic followed, she held up her camera and framed the shot, capturing the wasting mechanisms below in her lens.

It was hard to imagine that, not all that long ago, this place had been a real, working factory. Men and women had walked its corridors and made their living tending these strange machines. And now it was all in ruins. It was a wreck.

 _That moment innocence evolves into corruption... The transformation between the old Max and the new Max._

Max focussed on the scene below, on capturing just the right angle. When something behind her creaked and groaned with a metallic whine, she ignored it and kept clicking. She couldn't get quite the right angle. A line of wiring dangling from the ceiling swayed to and fro just at the edge of her shot. Max leaned forward against the railing, tilting to get a clear shot.

A metallic scraping sound and she felt the railing give way.

Max pitched forward for a fraction of a second, but something was wrapped around her, anchoring her and she was pulled back onto the platform in a heap. The platform groaned and shuddered for a moment but then was still again.

"Fuck. _Fuck,"_ Chloe rasped, sounding breathless and scared.

Max's heart was hammering in her chest, and it took her racing thoughts a moment to realize she was in a heap on the platform, leaning back against Chloe. She hadn't even realized Chloe had joined her up here. All she'd been thinking of was her pictures, and getting away from Mark Jefferson's voice.

"Chloe." Max was surprised by the tremor in her voice. "You saved me."

Her arms were still around Max's waist and now Chloe tightened her grip and buried her face in Max's shoulder. "Of course I saved you. I'm not going to let you goddam self-destruct on me."

"I was just... clumsy."

"Bullshit. I think I know something about self-destructive behaviour, right?"

"But I'm not–" She stopped herself as she thought over the past days. She'd just been distracted. Not... Was it just that she'd gotten used to feeling invincible because of her rewind powers? Or was she trying to punish herself for what had happened to Arcadia Bay?

"You've got to cut that shit out, Max." Chloe's face was pressed into her neck, her voice muffled. Max could feel hot tears streaming down Chloe's face. "I need you. I can't lose anyone else. My dad, Rachel... I can't fucking deal with that again." She took a shaky breath and then went on. "Look... Max... if you regret saving me–"

"No!" Max turned in Chloe's grasp so she could look her in the eye, her hand reaching out to touch her cheek. "Not ever, not even for a second."

"Then talk to me. Lately, it's like you're trying to crawl into that camera and disappear."

She didn't know _how_ to talk about it, how to make the words come. But she could still feel the moisture of Chloe's tears on her neck, feel her friend's steely grip around her waist, as if she were drowning and Max were a life preserver. "Okay," Max said. "Let's... let's go down and talk."

#

The rain had started up again, pelting against the windows. For a while they sat in silence side by side in the stairwell, neither one of them certain how to begin. Max's hands were clasped on her lap and she stared hard at them, trying to think of what to say. When she glanced up, she found Chloe looking down at a photo of herself on the front steps of Max's home. It was the last one Max had taken with her own camera. She'd been too worried that day to take a good look at it, but now she leaned closer and inspected the photo.

In the picture, Chloe sat hunched on the front steps, caught in profile, her face little more than a silhouette. The day's drizzle had seemed to drain the world–and the photograph–of all colour, except for the blue of Chloe's hair and the orange tip of her lit cigarette.

Chloe noticed her glance, and handed her the photo. "Just before you took that, I'd been talking to your dad."

"My dad?"

"He brought me an ashtray so I wouldn't mess up your lawn or whatever. You know he used to smoke?"

Max shrugged. "Yeah. Before I was born, I think."

"Nope." Chloe bumped her shoulder against Max's. "He smoked until you were born. And then he quit. He told me..." Chloe, her voice suddenly unsteady, cleared her throat. "He said he loved you so much he couldn't stand the thought of hurting you with his secondhand smoke. So he quit."

"He never told me that," Max whispered.

"It got me thinking about... about everything that went down. And..." She slapped her hands down on her knees and bowed her head for a moment. "Shit. Dude, this mushy stuff is hard."

Reaching out Max took one of her hands in both of hers. "Chloe–"

"No, let me finish." She took a deep breath. "Your dad loved you so much he fucking gave up nicotine. Cold turkey. And I love you every bit as much." She looked up, her blue eyes holding Max's gaze. "You gave me my life, Max. And I know I need to stop pissing it away. I just–I can't do it all at once."

Max wrapped her arms around Chloe and hung on for all she was worth. "I'm not asking you to. I'm not asking you to do anything."

"You don't have to." She drew back and placed her hands on Max's shoulders. "I want to be there for you, to have your back, to take care of you–like you did for me. But you've got to tell me what's wrong, Max."

Her name echoed through the stairwell. She was thankful for the rain which had obviously dissuaded any other explorers or graffiti artists. They were completely alone here, just as they had been during the storm when they'd stood on the bluff by the lighthouse. Just the two of the them in a place that was crumbling around them. "I'm... I'm afraid, Chloe. I'm afraid that something will happen to you and I won't have my rewind powers to save you. I'm afraid I will have my powers and I'll fuck everything up again. I'm afraid of going back to Arcadia Bay and having to face everyone when I know it's all because of me. And I–I'm afraid that Jefferson was right."

Chloe's face was a mask of fury. "What does that motherfucker have to do with this?"

"Everything." Max stared at the wall ahead of her, covered in spray-painted scrawls, a testament to the people who had been here and left their mark... like all the conversations, all the terrible events scrawled only in her memory and nowhere else. "Everything that's happened started with him. If he hadn't sucked in Nathan Prescott then Rachel would still be alive and Nathan would never have tried to drug you and you never would have tried to blackmail him that day and–" _And gotten shot._ Max took a breath to steady her voice so she could go on. "It all started because of Jefferson's sick hobby and the way he was pulling Nathan's strings."

Something like a growl poured out of Chloe. "Okay. Fine. We've successfully established that he fucked up our lives. That's not news."

Wrapping her arms around herself, Max rubbed at the gooseflesh prickling her skin. The dark room was still there in her mind; in her mind, she was still there. "He said... when I was in the dark room, he said he was obsessed with the moment innocence turns to corruption, and that an artist _makes_ the world." She couldn't look at Chloe, couldn't face her when all she could hear was his voice. "What happened in Arcadia Bay–I made it. And when I tried to use my photos–I just ended up hurting people, just like–"

"Don't you even say it." Chloe sprang to her feet. "I knew there was something wrong as soon as you started messing around with those black and white shots. I _knew_ it." Max's fingers trailed over the camera around her neck. She'd just wanted her pictures to be less like her normal material, less like the pictures that had caused so much suffering in Arcadia Bay. But had they just become more like Jefferson's work instead? Max shuddered.

Chloe hopped down several stairs so she could stand in front of Max, eye to eye as she grabbed her by the shoulders. "Fuck all that, Max. It's all bullshit."

"But–"

"No, listen. I've been thinking about what would've happened if I'd–if I'd died like I was supposed to."

" _Chloe_." But Chloe ignored the anguish in Max's voice and barrelled on.

"Even if Nathan had blabbed to the police about Jefferson, how long do you think they'd have put him away for? It was Nathan who ODed Rachel, right? They'd only be able to get Jefferson for–what? Assault? Kidnapping? Would they have enough to even prove it? He was planning to pin the whole thing on Nathan from the start. And then he could just go set up shop somewhere else. But now he's under arrest for Nathan's murder. Maybe that's what it took to bring that motherfucker down."

"I–"

"And what about your friend Kate? Are you sure she would've been all right? Are you sure you'd have been able to save her again?"

"But maybe if I'd done something differently I could've..."

"Saved everyone?"

The tears came as soon as the words were out of Chloe's mouth, and as if floodgates had been opened, they streamed down Max's cheeks. Chloe sat down again and wrapped her arms around Max, pulling her close. Once she started, Max found she couldn't stop and she was left hopelessly sniffling into Chloe's chest.

Chloe squeezed her hard. "You tried Max. Hell, you even tried to save my dad."

"And I couldn't do it... without hurting you instead."

"Fucked either way," Chloe said darkly. That reminder of Chloe's hurt, of all the pain she carried around like necklace of weighted stones, was enough to slow the waterworks. Max forced herself to take several deep breaths.

Chloe's arms tightened around her again. "There's no black and white, Max. There's no perfect decision you could've made where everything would be okay. There's just before and after. And sometimes the after sucks ass." She drew back then and Max was caught by those pale blue eyes of hers. "But sometimes it's good too." And Max knew that although she didn't say it, there was a question at the end of that.

A smile broke onto her face as she looked up into those eyes, at the person she still wouldn't trade. Not for anything. "As long as I've got you it is." She scrubbed at her eyes, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "I'm all blotchy now, aren't I?"

After several moments of searching her pockets, Chloe produced a crumpled Kleenex and offered it to Max. She peered at it skeptically for a second but then wiped her eyes and blew her nose. When she was done, Chloe got up and, taking Max's hands, tugged her to her feet. "Come on, Maxaroni, you've got some photos to take. And this time," she said, pointing to the brightly coloured graffiti, "do it in colour."

* * *

 **A/N:** Fun fact... The Fisher Flour Mill is a real place on Seattle's Harbor Island. If you can find it on a satellite image you can even see the names of some of the taggers painted on the roof.


	6. Six: Spectrum

**Six: Spectrum**

Chloe was loading the last of the borrowed camping gear into the back of the truck and trying to secure it there. Judging by the string of curses, it wasn't going very well. Max set down her bags and was about to go over to help when her mom emerged from the house, looking sad and serious and worried all at once. She was clutching what appeared to be a doggie bag.

"I packed you both something to eat for the trip," she said offering Max the bag.

"Thanks, Mom. I don't we'll be ready for another half hour." She glanced over her shoulder as Chloe cussed out the truck again. "Or so. You don't need to worry–I promise I won't drive off without telling you."

Her mom cast the junker a sceptical look and shook her head. "Sweetie, are you sure about this? It's not too late to enroll you in your old school. You could graduate with your friends."

"I need to do this, Mom. Really. And it's just one semester. Blackwell should be open again by winter and I can do a semester in the summer and still go to college next year. I'll even be able to put this project on my applications." It was funny, Max thought... Just a few weeks ago she'd never have been able to be so assertive and matter-of-fact with her mom. But so much had happened since then and she wasn't the shy, uncertain hipster who had left Seattle in August.

Her mom didn't look quite convinced but she didn't get the chance to argue the point further. Chloe had apparently won her battle with the camping gear and was headed their way. "Gear's stowed," she announced.

Max held up the doggie bag. "We've got snacks." Chloe reached for it and Max snatched it away. "For the _trip_."

"I'm driving. I demand advanced payment for my services."

"Later."

Chloe heaved a dramatic sigh. But then she turned to face Max's mom. "Thanks for letting me crash here. And for everything. I hope I wasn't too much of a pain in the ass."

Max elbowed her in the ribs, hissing " _Chloe_ ," under her breath.

Chloe glanced at her, rubbing her side. "What?"

Max was a little surprised when her mom actually chuckled. "No. Ryan and I are very glad we've had the chance to see you. It's the first time Max has ever brought a–well–a girlfriend home. Or anyone really."

" _Mom_ ," Max groaned.

With a cheeky grin, Chloe put an arm around Max's shoulders. "I'm hella glad I get Maximus all to myself." Max was certain that any moment she was just going to drop dead from embarrassment. Official cause of death: mortification.

"Ryan is looking for some more blankets. It's supposed to get colder overnight. Please let us know where you set up the tent."

A lot of people who couldn't go out of town to a hotel were pitching tents that had been handed out by the National Guard. FEMA would be setting up trailers but in the meantime, a tent city had sprung up next to Blackwell.

Chloe nodded. "It'll probably be in the Bigfoots' field–if they've still got space when we get there. Joyce said she'd look for a spot for us."

Max nodded. "And I'll call as soon as we get there. We really do need to finish packing up the truck, though."

"All right. Come and get me when you're ready. Your dad and I want to see you off. And don't forget, we're coming down next weekend. We'll have some more donations from the office."

It was with an immense sense of relief that Max watched her mom head back into the house. She'd been afraid she'd make a scene of some sort trying to convince her to stay in Seattle.

Glancing down at Max's bags, Chloe grimaced. "More stuff to stash. Great."

A chime from Max's phone drew their attention away from the packing. Max paused to check it, no longer filled with dread each time a message came in. "It's Juliet. She's got more ideas for the project."

"The project," Chloe repeated, hooking her fingers into airquotes. "Sounds totally black-ops."

"I got the idea from you, you know–what you said about before and after..."

It had come to following their trip to the Fisher Flour Mill. She had realized that she needed to go back to Arcadia Bay and she needed to try to do something to help. Chloe was right: there was nothing she could do or could have done to make everything all right. And it still made her chest clench and her eyes burn when she admitted that. But that didn't mean she couldn't find a way to make it _better_. Maybe things would still be fucked up, but she could make it a little less fucked up. And the only way she knew how to do that was with her photographs.

So she had gotten in touch with some of the other Blackwell students, those she knew were still in Arcadia Bay–Warren, Alyssa, Juliet, and Daniel–and asked them to get in touch with anyone else who could help out. The idea was simple enough: collect photos of Arcadia Bay before the storm and after the storm, and use them to create a collection–something online maybe or a print run (they hadn't worked out all the details yet) that would help raise funds for rebuilding. Warren wanted to do a Kickstarter campaign. Of course.

The town would be getting federal aid, sure, but it wouldn't be enough to rebuild all the homes that had been destroyed. If their insurance didn't cover all the damage, people would be getting FEMA trailers and Max couldn't bear to think of leaving it at that, not when she'd played a role in leaving so many people without homes.

Max had albums full of old Arcadia Bay photos that she could contribute, but she needed to get the shots of the "after". And she needed to do some of that work herself. She needed to go back.

"Glad to be your muse, Max, but I'm gonna be deadweight on this thing." Chloe's words interrupted her train of thought.

"You're never deadweight. You're my partner in crime, remember?" Max shook her head. "Once Blackwell opens up again I'm sure we could convince them to readmit you."

Chloe snorted. "Since Bay High got trashed they'll have to admit everyone."

Max grabbed Chloe's hands. "It wouldn't be so bad. We could finish senior year together."

"Awesome. I can be your prom date. Do I have to get you a corsage?"

"Shut up," she said, giving Chloe a shove. "For reals, though... I need to finish senior year and go to college and study photography, and–"

"I know," Chloe cut in. "And I want you to do all those things. It's just..." Crossing her arms, Chloe turned to glare at the junker. "Arcadia Bay is the one place in the whole fucking world I don't want to be. But with you–wherever that is–is where I want to be more than anything." She shook her head.

A sense of dread washed over Max. "You don't _have_ to come."

Chloe shot her a incredulous look. "Dude, you did not just say that, did you? We're sticking together from now on, right?"

The relief that swelled through her like an ocean tide was more than Max had words for, so she just smiled and squeezed Chloe's hands. "Oh thank Dog."

"Besides, not only am I your faithful companion, I also happen to be your chauffeur," she said, dangling the junker's keys in front of Max.

"Travelling in style."

But Chloe looked serious again, and she turned to hold Max by the arms and stare her down. "Are you sure you're gonna be okay? If you freak on me again–"

"I'm okay. Swear to Dog, Chloe."

"And you're going to fucking tell me this time if you're not?"

"Promise."

Chloe's whole body sagged with relief and for a moment they just stood there, foreheads pressed together. And then Max stood on her tip toes and kissed Chloe. Max closed her eyes and took it all in, revelling in the warmth of Chloe's mouth and the softness of her hands. She held on to Chloe, clutching her jacket, pulling her tighter, closer, as if she could tell her with her closeness that she still chose her, still wouldn't ever trade her, still couldn't bear the thought of not having her by her side. However imperfect this after was, it was always better than an after without Chloe in it.

They broke apart when a few fat raindrops announced the coming of another onslaught of autumn showers. Chloe glowered up. "Shitballs." She grabbed Max's bags and hurried to get them into the truck and covered by the protective tarp already flung over the camping gear.

Max pulled up the hood of her jacket and watched her for a minute as the rain washed the world clean of colour–except for Chloe.

Returning to Arcadia Bay was going to be hard. It was going to be fucking brutal. But she would have Chloe there with her and Chloe would have her too. And Max knew that even if on some days the rain drained the world of its vibrancy, Chloe was all the colour she needed.

 **The End**

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you to everyone who's reviewed. I get a huge grin on my face whenever I get that little message in my inbox telling me I've got reviews. And thank you to anyone who reviews in future–it's always good to know a story is still being read and (hopefully!) enjoyed.

I'm also working on a new fic. Only 4.5k so far so it'll be a while still, but stay tuned. ;)


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